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thehinterlandonline:thecactusland:sandra_alland
Division
She said:
You have to beat
an olive tree before
it'll bear fruit.
She was unnaturally
rooted, hooked up to
ventilator, heart monitor,
tubes to all orifices
(plus more they created).
I couldn't argue,
having seen on ultrasound, in barium
radiation glow, what
they picked from
between her legs;
having imagined it
in the flesh: dark,
pulpy and fibrous,
detaching soundlessly
when plucked.
She shrugged.
Amazing what grows
out of pain.
Love: 12
When Jesus met
John the Baptist,
they made an exchange:
healer healed healer;
healer was healed.
I don't go in
on faith, but
this man's hands:
rough proof of
the power of fingertips.
Martyrs don't see
their wounds,
he says.
I'll show you yours
if you show me mine.
all poems copyright 2000 sandra alland[reprint only with author's consent]
